


Between The Phrases and Pages

by hanwritessolo



Series: Alternate Universes In Which You and I Belong Together [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Reader-Insert, Romance, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-06 23:29:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17354690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanwritessolo/pseuds/hanwritessolo
Summary: When Gladio opened up Once Upon A Page, a bookstore-meets-cafe he built in Uptown Insomnia from the ashes of his terrible divorce, most of his peers were surprised—both from his failed marriage and his decision to put off romance with a dull and tedious business. But the business is neither dull and tedious for Gladio; as a matter of fact, he is thriving spectacularly. Together with his sister and his three annoying best friends, he runs his quaint and whimsical space that holds shelves of a thousand book titles and the joy of open mic nights. For the first time, finding a second chance at love is the last thing on his mind. But when that second chance somehow finds its way to him the day he meets you, what he knows about love is about to turn upside down—or maybe, right-side up.





	Between The Phrases and Pages

Today marks your seventh visit in Once Upon A Page, and Gladio could not resist watching you read his copy of e.e. cummings’ _Erotic Poems_ with clinical concentration.

He tries to imagine what page of the book you are reading. Are you, perhaps, somewhere in the first half of _As We Lie Side By Side? “I shove hotly the lovingness of my belly against you,”_ reads the first couple of lines in the poem. _“Do not laugh at my thighs. There is, between my legs, a crisp city. When you touch me, it is spring in the city; the streets beautifully writhe, it is for you.”_ Funny how Gladio still has it memorized. He can recite the words by heart, even if each line has been soiled by the memory of the nights he made love to his wife—or his _ex-_ wife, rather. The prefix still pricks like a barbed wire at the tip of his tongue.

Gladio dismisses the horrible thought and chooses to study your face instead. From his cash register counter, he observes you sitting on one of the couches in the reading nook. He can see no sign on your blank face for any sort of reaction. Nowhere in the focused gaze of your eyes nor in the firm line of your lips can he tell what’s on your mind. He can spy a tiny tinge of pink on your face, and it might as well be from the heat of this blistering summer’s day. He’s dying to know what your thoughts are on the poem. In fact, he’s been dying to figure you out ever since you bought books of different genres in the last couple of days you have dropped by his bookstore. One day, it’s all fantasy and science fiction with _A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms_ by George R. R. Martin and the rest of the books in _The Broken Earth_ series by N. K. Jemisin; then the next, a couple of pastel-covered contemporary romance from authors he could hardly recognize. Two days later, you returned to purchase even heavier reads: _Atlas Shrugged_ by Ayn Rand and _Infinite Jest_ by David Foster Wallace _—_ both of which, personally, Gladio found a bit boring for his tastes. He had to admit that you did pique his curiosity when you picked up copies of _Delta of Venus_ by Anaïs Nin, _The Wild Iris_ by Louise Glück, and _War of the Foxes_ by Richard Siken one lazy Saturday afternoon, or that particular weekend you bought all of John Green’s and Rainbow Rowell’s books _—_ effectively shattering his speculation whether or not you’re into young adult fiction. But what truly earned you his admiration was that time you spent one Sunday evening glued to one of the reading corners, dedicatedly poring over Henruit’s _Silence of Knowledge_. That book is and will always be his personal favourite, and seeing you read it with the spark of enjoyment in your eyes filled him with a pleasant satisfaction.

As far as Gladio can tell at this point, the only thing he knows about you for sure is this: you certainly love books. There’s no doubt about it. Each of your visits never fail to keep him on his toes. What book are you going to buy next? What genre will you be obsessing over? The more you visit, the more Gladio is keen to know you. But what should he say to you? Usually, he can charm his customers with a simple “Hello, that’s a nice pick for today,” or “How did your last read go?” to make small talk, one that eventually leads to an often interesting discussion about their favourite books. With you, it seems whatever charm or charisma he believes he carries in himself ceases to exist. The first time he had tried to make conversation with you, you only smiled at him and left with your purchase without saying a word. His next attempts were a tongue-tied mess, as if you have been designed to cripple his confidence. But this time, he wants to try again. He wants to learn more about you. He wants to learn what specifically tickles your fancy, what turns you on—

“Don’t you know it’s rude to stare?” Gladio barely notices Iris sidling up to him, one elbow propped on the counter and one eyebrow raised in jest. “You know, you can go up there and say hello.”

Gladio scoffs. “And disturb them away from their read? I don’t think so.”

“So you’re just going to watch them like some creeper, huh.” Iris casts him a withering look.

Gladio, however, remains unaffected. Evenly, he says, “I’m not being a creeper, it’s called _people-watching—”_

“Did I hear that right? Gladio is back on his creeping business?” Prompto bursts in from the back of the shop armed with a box of newly delivered books. Behind him, Noctis is shaking his head, laughing.

“Like I said—” Gladio sighs in exasperation, tries to make his tone less defensive— “I am _not_ creeping—”

“Sure, whatever you say, big guy.” Noctis pats him on the back, a snarky smile on his face. Prompto and Iris laugh. Somehow, Gladio is relieved that Ignis is off busily tending the café counter on the other side, else all four of them would have easily tore him to shreds with their endless stream of annoying banter.

Nevertheless, Gladio loves this banter all the same. He’s happy to have these four troublemakers by his side. Once Upon A Page would have remained a pipe dream if not for the encouragement of his sister, the constant support of his three best friends, and of course, the sage counsel of his father. At thirty-five, running a bookstore was never a part of his long term plan; Gladio thought that by this age, he would finally reach the zenith of some ideal adulthood: a stable job, a nice house in the suburbs, a loving wife to always come home to. Those things, simple as they may be, have always been part of his grand aspirations in life. But the last two years had all been a merciless undoing, as if his life was pulling a loose thread, happening stitch by stitch: first came his ex-wife’s betrayal and the subsequent collapse of their marriage, then came losing his job after a company merger, quickly followed by his father’s battle with cancer. Everything that held him together came undone so ruthlessly. He had no choice but to rebuild himself from the jagged shards of his broken life, and rebuild himself he did. Painstakingly, rigorously, until his old self became a shadow of the man he had once been.

Somehow, opening this bookstore became Gladio’s saving grace. Each nook and cranny of this shop, he had meticulously laboured and designed out of his rekindled love for books: the rows of mahogany shelves stretching from floor to ceiling, all packed with numerous titles of both old and new; the cozy reading corners draped in beaded curtains and fairy lights, decorated in the casual glory of mismatched furniture; the humble café on the opposite side of the cash register, one that housed tiered pastry stands to showcase Iris’s delectable desserts, and the expensive espresso machine Gladio had received on his wedding day—something his ex-wife refused to take and one he gladly kept—that Ignis now used to brew his signature coffee blends. There’s a platform with a mic stand on the other side, a tiny island surrounded with technicolour bean bags that hosted many of Prompto’s spoken word literary nights. In this small and quaint space, every spot is perfumed by the crisp aroma of coffee, every corner incensed by the smell of old books. Gladio never imagined that he would be owning this beauty of a sanctuary with his closest friends, and now, he could only be grateful for the tumultuous ups and downs of his life. Because now, he couldn’t dare imagine trading this bookstore for anything else.

Iris yanks the sleeve of Gladio’s shirt. “Hey, Gladdy—”

“What?” Gladio says snappily, narrowing his eyes at his sister. Noctis has drifted to the café to help out Ignis serving coffee to a group of sleepless college students huddled on the long table, while Prompto has himself occupied with the inventory.

Iris stares at Gladio, as if he hasn’t been paying close attention. She jerks her head in front of the counter. “Uh, a customer?”

Gladio turns to see you standing by the cash register, watching his brief exchange with Iris. The heat of embarrassment rises to his cheeks.

“Oh, hi,” Gladio says with a nervous smile. He mentally punches himself in the face for making a fool out of himself in front of you. “Uh, sorry about that. How can I help you?”

You shake your head, offering him a kind smile in return. “No, it’s alright. Um, so—” you sweep a hand over your hair, all the while gingerly sliding the copy of e.e. cummings’ _Erotic Poems_ over the counter— “do you happen to have a new stock of this book?”

Iris leans over and checks the title. Startlingly, she turns to Gladio and says, “Hey, isn’t this your own copy—”

“Nope,” Gladio says sternly. He shoots her a deadly glare; Iris shrugs it off. Of course his sister would notice _that._ It’s only a matter of time before she figures out that he’d been purposely selling the books gifted to him by his ex-wife by hiding it with the rest of their sale.

“Is it true?” you ask. There is no judgment on your face, only a genuine expression of curiosity.

“Uh, yeah. Long story,” Gladio says, rubbing the back of his neck. He clears his throat and asks, “How did you like it?”

“I love it, actually.” A shy smile and a faint blush spreads across your face, and Gladio swears that for a moment, he forgets how to breathe at the sight of it. “It’s… sensual. The author has his way with words.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” he says, nodding in agreement. “In any case, since my sister had me busted, you can have it. Free of charge.”

You wave a hand. “Oh, no I don’t think I can—”

“No, it’s fine.” Gladio smiles, sliding the book back to you. “You’ve been coming here and buying a lot of books, and you’ve been keeping my sales up. So, yeah. Consider this a gift. I insist.”

You consider Gladio for a moment. The way you are looking at him right now—lips slightly parted, eyes searching in disbelief—sends his heart racing at an alarming speed. Eventually, you say, “Okay. Thank you. It’s weird, this reminds me of that scene in this Disney film—”

“You mean the one from _Beauty and The Beast?_  Where Belle gets a book from her local bookshop?” Iris chimes in, still watching both you and Gladio with brimming amusement.

“Yes, that’s it.” You laugh, and Gladio watches your face brighten into a bubbling radiance. If your smile had his lungs forget how to function, your laughter might have killed him right then and there.

Iris laughs, too. “I think it’s quite apt, in more ways than one. ‘Cause you’re quite a beauty and my brother here’s a beast,” she teases. Gladio only frowns at her, rolling his eyes.

“Oh, but he makes a very handsome beast,” you quickly tell Iris. Then, a pause. A very awkward pause. Gladio looks away with a sheepish smile, hoping against hope he isn’t blushing like an idiot this time around. Meanwhile, Iris is grinning from ear to ear. You nervously stammer, “Uh, I mean, well… never mind.” You heave a sigh and hurriedly say, “I’m so sorry. Thank you so much for this, um—” you squint at Gladio’s nametag, then at Iris’s— “Gladio. And you, too, Iris. Anyway, I gotta go. Bye.”

Gladio and Iris watch you hastily march out of the bookstore, the sound of the metal wind chimes tinkling at your departure.

Iris is still smiling as if she had won the lottery. Wearing a triumphantly teasing look, she says. “Wipe that blush off your face, _you handsome beast.”_

“Yes, you handsome beast,” Prompto repeats. He is leaning on a shelf, arms crossed over his chest, flashing Gladio a cheeky grin. On the other hand, from across the room behind the café counter, Noctis is looking at him with a giddy smile. So does Ignis.

“Can it, all of you,” he says out of annoyance, but he cannot help the smile that curls the corners of his mouth. He has to admit: he likes the way his name sounds in your lips, how it softly rolls off with the lilt of your voice.

Slowly, it dawns on him that he had forgotten to do one simple thing.

He had forgotten to ask for your name.

 

* * *

 

Today marks your seventh visit in Once Upon A Page, and you finally catch a glimpse of Mr. Muscle Man’s name tag.

You try to forget how you have so easily embarrassed yourself in front of Mr. Muscle Man—or _Gladio,_ rather—with something completely tactless. _A handsome beast._ Who casually says that in the middle of a decent conversation? Either way, what’s done is done.

Walking back to your apartment, you clutch the book in your hands. Some part of you wants to entertain the distracting idea that a stranger entrusted you with such an intimate piece of literature, but you are only touched by his gesture. You can only hope that Gladio has not caught you blushing as you read through e.e. cummings’ _Erotic Poems,_ especially when you got to the last half of _As We Lie Side By Side. “O mountain, you cannot escape me,”_ read the remaining lines of the poem. _“Your roots are anchored in my silence; therefore, oh mountain, skillfully murder my breasts, still and always I will hug you solemnly into me.”_ Back in the bookstore, you couldn’t help imagine the rich baritone of his velvety voice reading the lines of the poem to you—or quite madly, you couldn’t help imagine how he’s doing all these carnal things to you that the warmth on your cheeks had traveled between your legs…

You expel the foolish thought, shaking your head at your own severely inappropriate imagination. It is quite obvious that Gladio is awfully attractive and one heck of a devastatingly handsome man; but the guilt of reducing him to a beacon of a fantasy weighs heavy on your stomach. He deserves more than that. After all, with the generosity and hospitality he has extended to you throughout your visits, what you truly want is to earn his friendship. In fact, you’re dying to know what his thoughts are on the poem. You’re dying to know his personal tastes in books. Not once had he ever judged you on your selection of purchases, and you could not help but wonder what his favourite book could be. Or if he even has one. How can a man like him who’s running a lovely bookstore possibly pick a favourite?

As far as you can tell at this point, the only thing you know about Gladio with much certainty is this: he loves books. There’s no doubt about it. He wouldn’t be tending to a bookstore if he didn’t. And that fact alone makes him a hundred times more attractive, which now makes each of your bookstore trips a bit more troublesome. What if he sees you staring at him? What if you see him staring back? The more you visit, the more you are drawn to know Gladio. But what should you say to him? Clearly, you cannot even begin to formulate a normal sentence without embarrassing yourself—as already exhibited in your earlier exchange. Besides, in his attempts to make conversation with you, you always end up shrugging him off with an awkward smile out of your nervousness. You hope he does not think you are too rude or callous. Because this time, you want to properly return his kindness. You want to learn more about him. You want to learn what stirs his curiosity, what makes him smile—

Someone is tapping you over your shoulder. “Uh, excuse me?”

You freeze for a moment. The sound of that voice sends your heart beating violently against your chest. It’s a voice you can probably pick out even in a crowded room. You turn around and see Gladio, all flustered and breathless.

“Hey, so. I think this is yours,” he says, handing you a phone. Which you first find strange. Then, for another second, you realize that it is _your_ phone. Shit. How reckless can you get today?

“Oh my god, I… uh, thank you. So, _so_ much,” you say in a stupefied relief, taking your phone from his hand. “I probably wouldn’t realize that I left this until I reached my apartment.” The sidewalk is glazed with the summer heat and you are already a few blocks away from his bookstore that you just have to ask: “You didn’t happen to run all the way here, did you?”

“Well, I had to,” Gladio says with a crack of laughter. “But it’s fine. I think you’re worth chasing after.” He pauses, then quickly adds, “Because y’know, you left your phone. And besides—” he scratches his cheek, hesitates for a brief moment, then runs a hand through his ponytailed hair— “you got my name but I never got yours.”

You try to chew the smile that threatens to escape your lips, but you fail miserably. You regard him curiously for a second, narrowing your eyes at him. “Do you always ask the name of your customers?”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “Usually I don’t need to ask since they give it to me on their own.”

You roll your eyes. “Right. Of course. Very charming.”

“So you think I’m charming?”

“Haven’t decided on that yet.”

“How about you decide on that after one date?”

A stunned silence. The cacophony of honking cars and bustling pedestrians fill in the wordlessness. You stare at him and with uncertainty, you repeat, “One date? Are you… asking me out?”

“Yes. Yes, I am.” Gladio nods with a smile. The way his smile illuminates his face, you can promise that this summer afternoon has never been brighter. He digs his hands on the pocket of his jeans, his expression suddenly dubious. “Is it… too soon?”

“No, not at all,” you say. “I’d love to go.” 

 

* * *

 

The said date did prove that Gladio is, indeed, one charming man. Excruciatingly charming, even. Without a shadow of a doubt. He had arranged to close Once Upon A Page the rest of the evening just for the two of you. Without the sight of customers flocking his shop, the place looks even more magical: the whimsical arrangement of furniture, the towers of bookshelves teeming with books, the soft jazz music wafting from the stereo. The both of you spent hours in the reading nook talking about books, trading recommendations, and exchanging good-hearted criticism on reads that never quite left a mark on your reading experience. (”I gave up halfway on  _Atlas Shrugged,_ just so you know. While I support Dagny Taggart as a badass female protagonist, it all felt too... wordy? Prosaic? I don’t know how to describe it,” you tell him when he asked you what you thought of the Ayn Rand book you once bought, and he couldn’t help but laugh, because he, too, felt the same.) The majority of the night was then wasted away in a comfortable silence reading each other’s favourites.

The said date led to another. Then one more. Then two, three, four, five... until the nights you had spent with him could no longer be measured in numbers. Days drifted to weeks, weeks meandered to months. By then, you could only measure it by the way he makes you feel each time you are together. As if you are home, as if you are safe, as if you have always loved him your entire life.

 

* * *

 

Today marks the night that Gladio openly shares with you the story of his life, and you look at him with a genuine kindness that makes his heart swell.

Sitting side by side on the couch of his bookstore’s reading nook, you rest your head on his shoulder, threading your fingers with his. Quietly, he confides in you the pain. It’s all in the past now, but he has not talked about the gravity of it all with anyone else. Not even with Noctis, or Prompto, or Ignis. Not even with his sister.

“So yeah, that’s why you found that e.e. cumming’s book,” Gladio explains. “Quite a petty move, isn’t it?”

“No, I don’t think so,” you tell him sincerely. He pulls you even closer, and you look up at him with a smile. “We all have our ways of coping with heartbreak. I remember my mum once telling me that we do all these things to move on because we put the people we love on a pedestal. And I think she's right—there's a sense of trust in that, because in a way, we equip them with the weapons we know that could hurt us, all the while firmly believing that they would never wield it to do us any harm. So when they fall from grace—unconsciously or otherwise—the easiest response is to put the blame on ourselves, rip out our feelings and memories of them to be cured faster of the hurt.”

Gladio nods pensively. “Yeah, but most of the time, in the process, some eventually close their hearts to love.”

A solemn silence lingers. Then, you cast him a searching look. “Have _you_ closed your heart to love?”

“At some point, I was about to.” His lips quirk into a small smile. “But then I met you.”

You say nothing. You can’t say anything. Did he just…

Gladio immediately understands the bewildered expression on your face as he goes on to say, “Y’know, you made me realize that I don’t want to live the rest of my life with my heart closed to others just so I could avoid getting hurt. To love is to live. To hurt is also to live. I’d rather feel anything than choose to feel nothing.” He tucks a loose strand of your hair behind your ear, and a wide smile spreads all over his face. “So I guess what I’m trying to say here is yes, I'm in love with you.”

Again, you say nothing. Instead, you meet his lips with yours. Somewhere, you hear the wild cheers from Iris and Noctis, and Prompto saying, “Get a room, you two!” but you didn’t pay anyone any mind. Gladio doesn’t mind them, either. Because he kisses you as if the world is on fire and your mouth is the only way to extinguish the flames. He has been used to carrying the burden alone, but with you, the burden feels lighter. With you, he feels like he is home. Like he is safe. Like he has always loved you his entire life.

 


End file.
